


Matchless

by Severina



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Community: lands_of_magic, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 15:16:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4268151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belle decorates, while Rumple searches for the perfect gift.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Matchless

**Author's Note:**

> Storybrooke. Post Season One, presuming our heroes got a breather from curses and pirates. Two stories (based on LJ's lands_of_magic 'Badda Bing Badda Bang' prompts) posted as one, because the second was written as a sequel to the first.
> 
> * * *

I.

Rumplestiltskin paused on the sidewalk, blinked confusedly for a moment at the twinkling white lights that twined around the porch railing. Vaguely remembered Belle asking him about Christmas decorations that morning, while he'd munched on her delectable French toast, most of his mind focused on the problem of her gift – namely, how to find the perfect present for the woman to whom he owed everything. It was a conundrum, and one that occupied his thoughts most frequently in the days leading up to Christmas. He only dimly remembered agreeing to her suggestion that she decorate the manse while he spent his day in the shop.

Rumplestiltskin shook his head, resumed his walk to the porch. He had every faith in Belle's ability to transform their home into something tasteful and refined for the holidays. It was with this confidence that he opened the front door and stepped into the foyer. He removed his coat, shaking the snow from the shoulders, before moving on into the house.

Only to discover that Santa's workshop had exploded all over his sitting room.

Santas lined every shelf and stood sentinel on the mantle. Stuffed Santas took the place of the cushions on the chairs. There were fat and jolly Santas, skinny Kris Kringles, Santas with long fluffy beards and Santas who clearly had a good barber. Santas made of wood, of metal, even of tin. And of course there was a life-size Santa which moved its mechanical arm and greeted him with a hearty Ho Ho Ho as he stepped cautiously into the room.

He closed his mouth, clenched his fist over his cane and took several deep breaths before trusting himself to speak. "Belle?" he called out cautiously.

"Oh, you're home!" 

He turned in time to see her bouncing down the stairs and was swept away again – as the first time, as every time he's seen her since – by her beauty, her grace, by the very fact that this woman chose to be with him. Loved him, though he had yet to quite understand why or how.

"I am," he confirmed, taking her hand. "And I see you've been… busy."

"Do you like it?" Belle asked. "It's almost exactly what I envisioned when we talked about decorating this morning! I found a bunch of them at that dollar store on the waterfront, but a few I bought at a craft shop downtown. And when Mr. Clark at the pharmacy found out what I was doing, he brought out boxes of extraordinary items that he had tucked away in his storeroom and let me have as many as I liked at a wonderful discount!"

"I'm sure he did," Rumplestiltskin said dryly. 

Belle smiled, squeezed his hand. "Wait until you see the rest."

Rumplestiltskin swallowed. "There's… more?"

"Of course!" Belle gushed. "I thought each room should have a theme, you see. So Santa is in the sitting room, the elves are in the dining room, and I thought Mrs. Claus would be in the kitchen since apparently she loves to bake cookies. Though I haven't had the chance to get to that room yet; this took a lot longer to do than I imagined. And for the bedroom—"

Rumplestiltskin held up his hand. "Not the bedroom. Please, Belle."

"Oh. Yes, I suppose that might be a bit of overkill," she answered. She stepped closer to wrap her arms around his waist, gazed up at him from beneath her lashes. "You do like it, don't you, Rumple?"

It was abysmal, horrid, an assault on the senses. And it made his love wildly happy. "It's perfect, sweetheart," Rumplestiltskin said.

Belle beamed. "Now we just have to decide where to put the tree!"

Rumplestiltskin was absurdly proud of his ability to stifle his groan, yet briefly considered raising an objection. Merely the thought of pine needles being strewn all over his priceless carpets was enough to stir the hairs on the back of his neck. Then Belle raised herself on tiptoe to touch her lips to his. And he knew he'd be traipsing through the countryside on the weekend, axe in hand. 

He'd probably find that a Santa or two had migrated to the bedroom as well.

 

II.

Rumplestiltskin closed the shop early, snapping the key into the lock with more force than was strictly necessary. His cane tapped sharply on the pavement as he walked through the town. He may have noticed that people were giving him a wider berth than usual; may have perceived that the scowl on his face drove shoppers back into stores they'd just vacated. Mostly he simply drifted, letting his feet take him where they liked. 

He decided, there and then, that he hated Christmas.

There was a tree displayed in his living room, covered with a multitude of brightly coloured lights and enough ornaments to choke a reindeer. He had filled the floorboards beneath it with presents for his love – lingerie purchased from online stores that he blushed to visit, trinkets to adorn her neck and ears, a delicate music box that he had painstakingly repaired over many secretive days. And books of course – fiction filled with daring adventures, biographies of historical figures, romances to make her swoon. And yet none of them were right. 

He was a several hundred year old sorcerer with untold amounts of power at his fingertips and yet he was unable to find the perfect gift for the only person who mattered in his life.

It had to be unique. Special. As rare and remarkable as Belle herself.

And unexpected. She had smiled every time he placed a new package under the tree, but there was no disguising the size and shape of a book. He wanted to surprise her, to see her face light up when she opened an item that was completely unforeseen. 

He stopped abruptly on the sidewalk, slumped over his cane. He had failed, and the disappointment nearly crushed him. He studied the cracks in the pavement; resigned himself to presenting Belle with the items he had already purchased and knowing that she chose to be with him not for what he could give her. She would be happy with her baubles and her books, because he knew in his heart that Belle would even be happy with nothing at all. He raised his head, prepared to make the long walk back to his car.

And opened his eyes on the place that might just be able to provide what he was looking for.

* * *

He had to freeze time in order to sneak his final purchase into the house unseen. He winced to do it, knew that Belle would berate him if she knew that he was using his magic on her. But there was nothing else for it, and he comforted himself with the knowledge that he had no other choice.

He ate dinner (among a plethora of smirking elves) and then retired with her to the living room (and enough Rudolphs with blinking red noses to induce a seizure); took a seat on the sofa while she perched on the floor, fussing with the bow on one of his presents; listened to her talk about her morning at the library and her afternoon helping Snow White with the children's Christmas recital; tapped his fingers on his knee and wondered how he was going to convince her to do what he wished.

"You know," he said, brusquely interrupting her tale of little Marcus Snowden's unfortunate falsetto during 'Oh Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen', "there are some who partake in the tradition of opening a single present on Christmas Eve."

Belle tilted her head, thankfully indifferent to his discourtesy, and narrowed her eyes. "I think _you_ just want to open one of your gifts!" she accused playfully.

"No no," he said quickly. "I can wait until morning. But... perhaps you would like to?"

She bit her lip, studying the gaily wrapped presents beneath the tree, clearly deciding between prolonging the anticipation or gaining some instant gratification. She flicked her eyes to his, then grinned and nodded and stretched out her hand for the tiny package that concealed the music box.

"Uh uh," Rumplestiltskin said, raising a finger and halting her in mid-reach. "I get to choose the gift."

"Is that also one of the traditions?" Belle asked.

Rumplestiltskin paused. He did not want to lie to her, but it was absolutely imperative that she open the gift he had hidden away. "It is now," he settled on, and relaxed when she smiled and happily acquiesced. 

It took him but a moment to fetch the box, another to place it carefully in her lap. Her brow furrowed as her fingers plucked at the tiny holes drilled into the sides of the box, her gaze coming up to his questioningly. She hesitated with her hands on the edge of the lid.

"Go ahead," he urged. "Open it."

She did, finally, while Rumplestiltskin held his breath and dug furrows into the arm of the sofa with his nails.

The kitten blinked up at her sleepily.

Rumplestiltskin had never before heard the noise that Belle made; would be hard pressed to describe or recreate it. It was something between a squeal and a sob as she reached into the box, her face alight with joy when she plucked the kitten from his nest of blankets and held the tiny thing to her cheek.

"Oh, Rumple," she murmured.

"It was a foundling," he said. "David discovered it wandering about after the small fire at the garage last week, took it in. He thinks perhaps the mother was killed in the blaze; its siblings as well, if there were any. You can see it's injured, there? Missing most of his whiskers. We _think_ it's a male—"

"Rumple."

Rumplestiltskin was aware he was babbling in his nervousness, shut his mouth with a snap when she moved forward to rest a hand upon his knee. 

"Thank you," she breathed out. She looked from his face to the kitten snuggled against her breast, the little thing half asleep. "How did you ever think of it?"

He lifted a shoulder. "I simply saw him and thought that he was… matchless. Like you."


End file.
